


Training day1

by orphan_account



Series: Hyoudou Issei's Happy Times [2]
Category: Highschool DxD (Anime)
Genre: Masturbation, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 04:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20808272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: So, after watching a lot of shonen jump titles I think I know where this is going......And I'm assuming you weebs know as well.;)





	Training day1

The stopwatch was a cold heavy weight in Issei's pocket, procuring it had proven exceedingly simple, at the cost of a few dollars, but despite it's necessity he was still bothered somewhat by it's presence, it stuck out of his pants pocket like a growth and froze his skin like an ice cube, but the regiment had been insistent; practice, log, set goals, which was why as he walked into the school building he was also conscious of a small notebook filled with blank graph paper that was in his other pocket. Despite the fact that he received the usual amount of attention from his peers he couldn't help but feel like everyone was staring at his weirdly prominent pockets, and his comparatively concave crotch. As his stomach did flips he made his way to his first period class.

Taking his seat, he noted the women in the room, from his peripheral, of course, to his eye there was an endless sea of over-long skirts and over-baggy sweaters. _What a waste_, he thought, as the bell rang to signal first period, _a school uniform is supposed to be the source of a thousand wet dreams, the very image of a pervy old man--or young man's fantasy_. As he stood to attention, something else stood with him, something that bumped up against the lip of his desk as he rose to stand.

The teacher was alarmingly willing to excuse him, even though his hand trembled and his heart raced as he reached out for the hall pass, he could hear some of his female classmates giggling as he left the room and his teacher announced to the class in a monotone slur"Yes, yes, we all produce excrement, it's very hilarious. Open you Books."Issei rushed, his feet barely touching ground, as the blood pulsed in his newly ready organ, he reached for the cold steel handle of the bathroom door, swung it open, found it empty, and pulled out his supplies. 

On the sink he arranged for himself the tools of his trade; the notebook and stopwatch were first to come out, but then came the more obvious members of the party, the small bottle of hand moisturizer, helpfully provided to him by his mother under the presumption that he would use it to keep his hands soft*, the lock for the stall door, helpfully assembled thanks to a YouTube tutorial**, and finally, his prized possession, obtained for him using fifty yen in the palm of a homeless man, a magazine from a certain kind of vending machine. Issei, gathered up his supplies and went into the stall in the middle, the one that people checked last. He laid his supplies on the ground, save for the mag, that he kept close to his chest, just in case some enterprising young fellow were to snatch it up***, and with careful hands applied the little metal contraption to the stall door so that it clicked shut, and would only open again when he slid a certain hairpin out of a certain slot****.

His heart stopped racing for a moment, he was safe, he gathered up his supplies again, the notebook he opened to the first page, placed it atop the square metal of the toilet paper dispenser, beside it he placed the white bottle and blue cap of the moisturizer, then as he looked down at the ridiculous oblong protrusion is dark pants, felt the strain of his member against the fabric, and his heart picked up again. He unzipped his pants with a satisfying whir from the bronze metal teeth, as he clumsily shoved the rough dark blue fabric to the white tiles and the black mortar of the bathroom floor he was again confronted with the wetting tip of his penis as it stood straight at attention beneath his white boxers, pulling the loose white fabric tighter around his ass and thighs. 

He shoved them to the floor with a shaky breathe, excitement and precum spilling out of him. He took three shaky breathes, and calmly and carefully took the moisturizer in his left hand, he would have normally only applied a small tripe to his right hand to conserve supplies, but the guide had advised a different course; just because you're practicing doesn't mean you can't enjoy it, in fact quite the opposite! Put as much in your spanking hand as you can and then a bit more, it should be hard to close your hand at first. And Issei had no problems with that, as he spurted a large white blob onto his hand, like a dollop of cold whipped cream, he clapped his hand a little, just to make that satisfying squish that meant he was going to be need to change his underwear when he got home. 

With the left hand, he carefully placed the moisturizer back with the notebook, but now he took up the magazine and the stopwatch, he flipped it open till he found an image of a woman who made him bite his tongue, then deftly moving his finger, trying not collapse from how fast his heart hammered, he held the book open while also placing his thumb on the stop watch. 

He looked down at his tower, the slimy white trail of precum was now a thin line down his shaft, the column of veiny pale skin that throbbed and pulsed and ached to be touched, from it's red, sore head, to the base covered with a faint scratch of fine black hair, he reached down with a hand that was mostly wet openness and clicked the stop watch.

It was overwhelming, unlike anything else before, just pure, wet, tight, grip; he stroked and with each he had to stop himself from keeling over with ecstasy; the rush of blood to his head he had to keep back, he had to hold back, even as pressure built. he had to consciously stop, had to slow his beating, as globs of white moisturizer dripped down and made loud plopping noises in the toilet bowl, he had to control his breathing, his abusing, he held his breath, sped it up, slowed it down. And then the pressure conatined and hurt, he felt like his dick was being split open, and when he came it felt like he was bleeding. He clicked the stopwatch off.

As he leaned back on the toilet, staring up at the cork ceiling, he took deep breathes, all the while gripping the magazine and the stopwatch against all odds, he smelt the salty wetness of cum, and finally looked up to see a white splatter that decorated the stall door, he looked down at the soft dropping thing that leaked and dripped into the toilet bowl, the black hair seemingly bent around it's curved down shape. Then he followed the trail of slimy salty fliud, it made a straight line back to him, right across his new slacks..._Fuck_. 

He lifted up the stop watch, stowing the magazine in the sleeve of his school blazer*****. It read .15 sec. _Fuck_.

Then he placed the watch on the metal, picking up the notepad, pulling a pen out of his blazer pockets, he marked it down as follows: Day1. 15 seconds.

Shifting back up was difficult, not just because he spent a good five minutes using that single ply toilet paper to clean up all the evidence, which included wiping off his dick, before making a small pad to catch any after cum, because as the website had explained, that was apparently a problem he had to deal with now. He made it out of the stall, stashing all his supplies, washed his hands in the ice cold water and went back to class.

* * *

Issei stabbed at his lunch, one hand on his head, he didn't feel like eating. 

_15 seconds, and I can't practice again, how slow is this gonna be?_ he thought as he halfheartedly put some white rice into his mouth. He stared forlornly out the window, watching what appeared to be a girl's gym class doing laps. 

His dick hit the table so fast it hurt. But even though he was pained in a way that he couldn't express, a smile spread across his face. 

_Who said I only got one practice round per day_, he thought as he rushed to the boys room, his many supplies jingling and jabbing against his genitals.

**Author's Note:**

> To be clear, I'm writing from his perspective, not mine, I had to troll through a LOT of subreddits to understand the heterosexual mind...
> 
> how do you people even function?
> 
> *soft so as to indicate he doesn't work with his hands for money.  
**YouTube is full of such helpful tutorials to help with the, ahem, single great habit as Sigmund Freud once called it.  
***As he would, and expect nothing less.  
****It should be noted, the author has no idea how such a lock would work, and is bullshitting this, but please do inform them, so the work may be adjusted in the future.  
*****In the lining of the sleeve to be specific.


End file.
